


This Year, To Save Me From Tears

by homoeroticsubtext



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Heartbreak, Kinda Like Softcore Porn I guess, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Pre-Series, Stanford Era, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 11:04:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2848613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homoeroticsubtext/pseuds/homoeroticsubtext
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean pays Sam a visit at Stanford for Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Year, To Save Me From Tears

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for any mistakes. They are completely, 100% my fault and I will try to fix any that I notice. Thank you :-)

When Sam left for Stanford, Dean stood outside for hours, staring at the last place he saw Sam. If he recalls that horrible night, he can still remember Sam's sad eyes glancing back at him before he turned and walked away, towards the bus stop. Dean should've stopped him or at least taken him there himself but Dean was frozen, staring blankly at the newly empty space in front of him.

That was the first night that Dean sunk to his knees on cracked pavement, his heart bleeding to the ground where his body was pooled. He sat there all night, waiting for Sam to come back, but he didn't. 

The months after that night were a blur of whiskey flavored starvation. Dean hardly ate or slept or even moved really. He had this deep ache in his whole body and at first Dean thought it was heartbreak. He thought that Sam leaving him left him shattered into pieces, but really Sam left nothing behind to shatter. Dean didn't know who he was without the familiar weight of his little brother clinging to his side. Dean took it personally when Sam left.

So he had no idea why the hell he was standing outside of the dorms in Palo Alto, hands jammed in his pockets where the cold chased them. 

"Coward," he breathed to himself as he took the first steps toward the building. He knew which dorm Sam and his roommate, Drew, were in by the ghost of a memory.

A memory of Dean driving to Palo Alto, downing way too much whiskey in the parking lot and hesitantly approaching this building that was supposed to be more important to Sam than Dean was. He searched for a while to find which dorm Sam was in and stumbled around hopelessly, trying to get to Sam before he got sober enough to realize what a bad idea that was. Sam wasn't there and Dean was broken. 

Now it took far less time and alcohol to locate Sam's room. Dean tugged his bottom lip into his mouth nervously as he tapped on the door with his knuckles.

Dean didn't even have a second to think before the door was slammed open and he was met with hazel eyes that were expectant yet surprised at the same time.

"Sammy," was all that Dean could choke out before his brother was crushing him.

Sam pulled Dean into his dorm room, still clinging to him as if he would die if they lost physical contact. And Dean thought he might. "Jesus, Dean. Are you okay?" 

Sam ran his hands over Dean's body as he asked this, checking for any physical proof that Dean was broken. And, god, Dean was broken, just not where Sam could touch. 

"I'm fine, Sam," Dean muttered, shrugging off Sam's seeking hands, secretly hoping he would be stubborn and keep searching for a point of hurt until he finds the raw, stripped bare parts of Dean that were hidden. He doesn't. Instead Sam's hands drop to his sides and he takes a step backwards. 

Dean tried to stow away the clawing feeling of disappointment as he took in Sam's room. It was simple and small; it just had two twin beds and a desk with a computer and a lone chair. Dean somehow knew that Sam would have kept stacks and stacks of his favorite books under his bed, all tucked away neatly.

Dean couldn't help the twinge of jealousy he felt when he remembered that Sam had a roommate. Someone to share pocket space with that wasn't Dean. 

"What are you doing here?" Sam's whispered question snapped Dean's attention back to him, taking in the slight curl of his soft, brown bangs, the sweatpants that seemed to cling to his hips and fall down to the tips of his ankles, and the Stanford sweatshirt that was probably too big on him a couple of years ago but now emphasized his growing frame. 

Dean bit his lip before tugging his mouth into a half smirk. "Didn't you miss me, Sammy?" Dean's question was meant to be teasing but there was something too raw there that filtered through. A part of the truth.

"God, Dean," Sam breathed, gazing at his brother softly, sadly even. "Of course I missed you. So much."

As if to convey the meaning behind his words, Sam drew Dean in for another embrace. This time was different because Dean was the one clinging to Sam, breathing him in, drinking him up. Dean started to shake softly and Sam pretended he didn't know he was crying.

And then their mouths found each other for the first time in years. Dean licked into Sam's mouth, remapping what was once, and always will be, his. Clothes were torn and ripped and discarded and the brothers were falling, tumbling with each other onto the bed. 

This wasn't the first time that Dean had his spit-slicked fingers inside of his brother. This wasn't the first time that Sam arched his body off the bed, pushing his ass against Dean's hand, his body begging, pleading with him. This wasn't the first time that Dean heard Sam pant and make such sweet and delicious sounds, all for him. This wasn't the first time that Dean slid himself into Sam, slotted himself into his brother's tight heat and just felt him; felt the way they were connected, felt so much love and hurt and pleasure. This wasn't the first time that Dean slammed into Sam's prostate over and over, watching his frantic hands fisting the sheets as he writhed beneath Dean. This wasn't the first time that Sam came for Dean, spilling hot over his stomach, mouth somehow attached to Dean's. This wasn't the first time that Dean came inside of Sam, white-hot pleasure stealing any words, besides one name, spilling from his lips.

But this was the first time that Dean waited for Sam's breath to even out before slipping out of the small bed. Dean threw his clothes on quietly and gazed over Sam. He got drunk on the sight of his sleep-soft face before rooting around in his pocket to pull out a small package. With shaking fingers, he placed the present on the bed next to Sam's face, breath spilling hot and even on his hand.

"Merry Christmas, Sammy," Dean choked out in a whisper, vision blurring with tears that threatened to spill.

Dean leaned down slowly, careful not to jostle Sam, and pressed a featherlight kiss to his forehead. He lingered for a second and then pulled back just as slowly, a crippling ache spreading through his body.

He couldn't keep doing this. Torturing himself with having Sam one night every so many years. He couldn't keep tearing Sam apart like this. He made a promise to himself in the Impala later, engine roaring to life as he peeled out.

He was going to let Sam have the normal life he wanted, away from Dean.


End file.
